The Night of the Imaginary Friend
by mudstalker
Summary: Something a little different... Artie finds himself in a bizarre situation while investigating a tense situation. Can Jim find him in time?


Hi all! I hope you like the story; I'm trying to do longer stories with more involved plot lines. I hope this story works; you will never know the amount of trouble it gave me! For any Ross Martin fans out there, I just thought you'd like to know: Ross Martin appears as a character actor in many of the old shows, but I think his two best roles were in the movie "The Great Race" (he is the evil baron who gets a cool sword fight with Tony Curtis) and in the Twilight Zone 1 hour episode "Death Ship" (where he plays the most angsty character I have ever seen in all my born days). If you like watching Artie in totally un-Artie roles, I'd suggest those two.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Jim or Artie, which is a pity, nor do I own the train.

**The Night of the Imaginary Friend**

Blam! A bullet shattered a tree branch right in front of Artie as another one whizzed past his head. Artie ducked lower in the saddle and urged his mount faster as they charged through the prairie. A line of trees were ahead; they were already in the beginnings of the forest. "Good," thought Artie, relieved to see some cover. Bang! Another bullet shot past him. Artie dared not look back, but he could feel his pursuers gaining on him. "Faster, faster!" he urged the horse, and the horse let out a burst of speed, running wildly for all it was worth now. Tree branches swapped Artie in the face, and a rider approached on his right. Blam! Artie felt a painful searing burn across his arm, and blood gushed out of the wound and splattered onto his saddle. Suddenly, the other rider's horse tripped, and Artie rode out of the line of fire. "Yes!" he thought jubilantly. "I've out rode them. I'm safe!" But Artie thought too soon; for a sudden drop in the terrain spooked his horse and sent it rearing. Artie could hardly hold on with his bad arm, and when the horse bucked he had no chance. Over the horse's head he flew, and down the hill he rolled, crash, smash, snap! Artie fell harder and harder, finally landing when his body hit a huge pile of rocks. The horse heard the sound of the pursuers and ran off in terror, leaving his rider crumpled and unconscious at the bottom of the hill.

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Jim rode into town, sitting tall and watchful on his stately horse Black Jack. Artie could be anyone, and Jim was not going to let him fool him this time. About a week ago, Jim and Artie had received a visit from Colonel Richmond.

"It's a terrible business," Colonel Richmond had stated, eyes wide with dismay. "One of our agents is being held hostage in Junction, Oklahoma territory. He was investigating rumors of gold in the area."

"Why was he investigating gold?" Artie had asked.

"Well, the town of Junction has had a very...diverse history. First it belonged to Mexico, then to the Indians, then to the United States. The people of Junction are a close-knit community, and they are tired of their land switching governments so often. They offered to buy the land themselves and make their own town the world's smallest country. But the problem is that they're now under United States rule, and so they cannot break away from the Union. Their sheriff threatened to fight for his town, and so we sent in two agents to go assess the situation. So far, we've heard no word from one agent, and the other is being held hostage; the town will trade us his life for negotiation rights. Before we took that step, we decided to send you two in. The agents you are looking for are named Gilbert Sullivan and Albert Morgan. Gordon will go in a week before you West, in order to assess the situation."

"Have no fear, Colonel, we'll have this conflict wrapped up in no time!" Artemus had enthusiastically stated.

"A bit overconfident, don't you think?" Colonel Richmond had muttered to James.

Jim had just laughed. "What Artie means is that we're on a winning streak. For six months we've run across no trouble on any of our missions. To tell you the truth, sir, I'm getting a little bored."

Jim smiled as he thought of the Colonel's harsh reply. It was something along the lines of 'the government is not out to entertain you,' but Jim's reverie was interrupted before he could finish the memory. A man came flying out of the town saloon, coughing and choking. Another man stood in the door, dusting his hands off as if he had just handled pure dirt. "And you'll stay out of this town if you know what's good for you, you blasted rabble-rouser." Jim waited till the man walked back into the saloon, and then he leapt off Black Jack. Quickly, he looped his horse's reins over the post and ran up to the drunk lying in the street, wondering if that was Artie. But when he turned the man over, Jim saw that the man was much older and couldn't possibly be Artie, even with the right amount of makeup. Jim shrugged, dragged the drunk into the shade to sleep it off, and scanned the streets once more. Not a soul was out. Jim knew it was hot; still, seeing the streets deserted in the middle of the day unnerved him. Jim turned and walked towards the saloon, figuring that it was as good a place to start inquires as any.

"Hallo, stranger!" cried the Barkeeper as Jim stepped in through the door. The saloon was bustling with noise and music. At least four poker games were going on, and men sat around tables exchanging news of the day. Jim walked up to the bar, flipped the Barkeeper a coin, and took a seat on a stool. "Doesn't anyone work around here?" he asked as the Barkeeper brought him a beer.

"It's the middle of the day," answered the Barkeeper. "It's time for a siesta."

"Oh, so you stuck with the Mexican way of doing things," Jim answered conversationally.

The Barkeeper smiled. "Sure did, mister. Right about now, all the men in town are here, excepting for the Sheriff. He always goes home to lunch with his wife."

"Oh, a family man," stated Jim. "Where about town does this Sheriff live?"

"He lives north of town; by Moon River," answered the Barkeeper. "That's near the woods. He's got a ranch out there. So, you got some business with him?"

"Not too much in particular," replied Jim carefully. "I'm headed out west, and I figured I'd stop by for a couple of days and see if I could get some stake. You see, I heard about your gold rush."

"Yeah," the Barkeeper laughed, "You and everyone else. But the man to talk to about that sort of thing would be Hassie."

"Hassie?"

"Oh, I plum forgot, you're a stranger!" The Barkeeper pointed across the room at the man playing the piano. Jim turned to look, and realized that the man was the same man he had seen throwing the drunk out of the bar. "Is he the deputy?" asked Jim.

"Him?! Oh no, he's our town hero. You see mister, when we was governed by Mexico, a group of banditos came riding into town. They were mean ones, right down to the core. Our sheriff was no good at the time; you see, his little girl caught scarlet fever and almost died. Lots of us were sick in this town. Well, our sheriff was home with that and no one dared to go near him. But in the meantime, we were being robbed and terrorized by these varmints. So, one day Hassie comes riding into town. He comes into the saloon and starts playing the piano, and I'm thinking of hiring him, when one of the outlaws comes in and makes fun of him. He gets up and shoots that guy down, fast as can be. The rest came after him (we all hid), and he gunned them all down. It was a fair fight, sir, and one as pretty as you please. After that, he decided to stay in this town, and we honored him by giving him land up on the prairie, near the sheriff's house at that. It was his land that the gold was found on."

Jim nodded thoughtfully and turned back to the Barkeeper. "I'd like to make his acquaintance, but I'd also like to speak to your sheriff anyway. What's his name?"

"Slade. Jeremiah Slade. He'll be back in town in a half hour or so."

"Good!" said Jim with a smile. "That'll give me just enough time to check in to my hotel."

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Artie groaned as he tossed and turned, his body trying to attempt consciousness. Dreams slipped through his head; fragments of his last few days knitting together to form an inescapable conclusion; Sheriff Slade was guilty. When Artie had first come into the town of Junction, he was disguised as an old ranch hand looking for work. He applied at Slade's ranch and was accepted right away. Acting old, hard of hearing, and senile seemed to suit the situation; it wasn't very long before Slade's men began talking freely around him. That was how Artie learned that the kidnapped agent was being held in Slade's barn. The ranch hands seemed very on edge about this; not at all like accomplices in crime. Rather, they seemed disgusted by the whole matter. Even Slade himself walked on egg shells, guarding the barn personally at night. For a while, it seemed that even though the evidence pointed to Slade, he might not be the mastermind at all.

But one evening Slade was late to his post. Artie crept into the barn and searched around for the agent. He found him in a small stall, chained up to the back wall. Everything would have gone fine if the stupid agent hadn't started screaming "Help Me!" at the top of his lungs. The agent seemed fairly young, and had Artie known that it was his first mission he probably wouldn't have slapped him to try and restore sanity. But it was too late by then; Slade and his men ran in, and Slade shouted, "Stop him!" Artie had leaped onto the nearest horse (thankfully, due to Slade's lazy men, still saddled and bridled), threw down a colored gas bomb, and escaped in all the confusion. But Slade's men were quicker than Artie expected; soon, he was racing for his life on the back of a horse he didn't know. The crash followed then, and Artie jolted back to consciousness.

"Ow," Artie groaned as he sat up and blearily looked around him. Artie was at the bottom of a steep hill. A pile of boulders was at his back, while a stream trickled by his side. Artie reached over for a drink, his entire body aching in the process. His arm burned as he cupped his hands under the water, and after his thirst was quenched he tore off a sleeve to inspect his arm. The bullet had grazed his arm, cutting a notch into his shoulder but leaving it relatively unharmed. It was even starting to scab over, though Artie felt weak and knew he had lost a bit of blood. "Thank you," Artie silently prayed as he looked his body over for any serious wounds. His legs were twisted at funny angles, and Artie tried to move them. Pain, like liquid fire shot through his body, and Artie gritted his teeth as he realized what had happened. Both of his legs had been broken.

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Jim stood at the window of his hotel room, looking out over the street. It wasn't like Artie to forget the plan and disappear when Jim was in town. It was nearing dusk now, and Jim had seen neither hide nor hair of Artie since he entered the town that morning. Sometimes Artie could get carried away, but Jim knew that unless Artie had been captured, he would stick to their plan. So, Jim had to assume the worst. Artie had been captured. "Okay," he thought silently. "If Artie was captured, he'd probably be held in the same place as the other agent. So, I've got to find out who is behind this. And since the Sheriff sent us the threat himself, I'll start there."

Sheriff Slade's office was a fairly unimpressive place. The wooden furniture was old and splintered, and wooden floor had stained with age. It wasn't the sort of place a rich man would spend his days. "Quite a place you've got here, sheriff," commented Jim as he walked through the door.

"I like it," Sheriff Slade replied quietly. "Is there something you want, Mr..."

"West. James West." Jim smiled and reached out a hand over the sheriff's desk. The sheriff shook it warily and gestured for Jim to sit down. "I'm new to town," Jim began, "and I'm looking for a place to stake out for some gold. I thought you just might advise me."

The Sheriff scowled and replied, "I don't deal with that, Mister."

"Oh. Well, I thought you might be able to help out, seeing as how you have dealings with the town and all."

The Sheriff's scowl deepened. "I don't deal with much in this town," he replied. "The man you ought to see is Hassie Perkins; lives just south of me. All the gold land belongs to him, but he offers individual claims on a commission."

"Where do you think I can find Hassie?" asked Jim congenially when suddenly the door flew open.

"I got him, Sheriff! He was tangled in a thicket north of the ranch. You should see it; there's blood all over the saddle..."

"McPherson, QUIET! Can't you see I have company!" roared the Sheriff. Jim started at this sudden outburst and expected the ranch hand to do the same. But the ranch hand merely smirked and said, "He'll be on the post when you want him." Then, the ranch hand jaunted out the door.

"Damn Hassie's men, they never have any respect," grumbled the Sheriff. Jim looked at him in interest and the Sheriff sighed, knowing it was his duty to explain the outburst.

"One of my ranchers tried to steal a horse. Hassie's men were out in the pasture at the time, and they helped me gun him down. Somehow, he escaped, and they brought me back his horse. Say, if you want to visit Hassie, his ranch is just a mile north out of town."

"Thanks," said Jim quickly, "I'll look in on him tomorrow." Jim stood up and walked briskly out of the office, stopping on the porch to examine the recovered horse. True to the ranch hand's words, there was blood on the saddle. Jim shivered as he looked at it, an uncomfortable suspicion lurking in his mind. _What if this is Artie's blood? _No, it couldn't be. Artie wouldn't try to steal a horse. Unless... he was trying to escape. Jim straightened his shoulders and looked through the dusky gloom toward Hassie's ranch. A visit to the famous Hassie would not be out of place. But that would have to wait for tomorrow; Jim had other uses for the dark.

The rest of the day Jim spent in his hotel room, waiting for a sign from Artie. When it was apparent that none were coming, Jim donned his blue suit and saddled his horse. As the prairie grew dark, Jim casually rode towards the sheriff's office. He waited in the shadows of the building till the whole town was lit up with flickering candlelight and till the sheriff took his leave for the day. Quietly, keeping several horse-lengths behind, he followed the sheriff into the night. The sheriff was a fast rider, and once they were on prairie land Jim had to dismount and follow on foot for fear of being spotted. It was easy to see riders in the distance; the flat land held no secrets. Jim had no fears for his horse; it would just graze until Jim came back for it, and woe to anyone who even tried to ride him!

It was harder to find the sheriff's house than Jim realized, though. The land was deceiving; it dipped into a shallow and hilly valley about a half-mile off. Confused, Jim walked the length of the valley three times before he saw the house, nestled against the side of the hill. There was no light coming from the house. "It has to be late," Jim pondered, rubbing his sore legs as he remembered his three trips up and down the valley. As Jim watched the homestead, he got the distinct feeling that something was wrong. After another few moments came and went, and Jim had his answer. There were no guards here! In fact, Jim had walked the entire length of the valley three times and had not been challenged once. Perhaps he had the wrong house... in the moonlight, it did look a little decrepit. Deserted. Quietly, Jim slunk closer to the house. He was just about to make his final brake from the shadows when a small figure stepped onto the porch.

The 'small figure' was actually a little girl, and she was crying softly. The breeze carried her sighs to Jim, and Jim in turn slunk away. So, this was the little daughter the barkeeper had mentioned. Jim carefully trudged back up the hill, cursing himself for his foolishness. Of course the house wasn't deserted; with little ones in it, everyone would go to bed fairly early. Jim was sure once or twice he would be seen; for the moon was very bright, but when he finally made it to the top of the valley, she had gone back inside and all was still once more. Jim sighed and trudged down the prairie road, back to where his horse was waiting for him. There was no one being held hostage in that house.

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Artie woke to the sound of birds chirping happily. He blinked slowly, trying to remember where he was. It all came back to him like a tidal wave; the discovery of the agent, Slade's men chasing him through the woods, the fall from the horse. Artie groaned as his head momentarily swam; he could probably add a concussion to his list of injuries. Artie gritted his teeth and pushed himself up into a sitting position. He had ripped apart the flannel shirt he had been wearing as part of his disguise and had splinted both his legs to the best of his ability. Even then, he had done a poor job. "The doctor will probably have to re-brake them to set them right," Artie thought grimly. It had been hard to do, especially with having only one good arm. Artie had tried to move when he had secured his legs, but as he couldn't stand and his arm could take little to no movement, he had little choice but to admire his surroundings. "At least I'm near water," thought Artie gamely. Suddenly, he heard the cracking of a twig. Quickly, he reached for anything that could be a weapon. A rock was all he could find, but it would do. Quietly, he held it above his head and aimed for the source of the noise. At the last second he dropped the rock; for the person who stepped around the boulder pile was not Slade and his evil henchmen but a small mite of a girl around the age of seven.

"Hi," Artie said, hoping that he hadn't startled the little girl with his rock. The girl turned her head to the sound of his voice, but her eyes stared right through him. Artie turned his head around, puzzled, but seeing nothing he looked back at the child.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

"I'm... a friend little lady. Do you live around here?"

"Yes," she whispered. Slowly, the little girl walked up to him. She was very pale and thin, as if she had overcome a bout with a serious illness, and in her small hands she held a small cane. Suddenly, Artie understood why she was looking through him. The child was blind. But that didn't matter; where there was a child, there were parents, and parents meant help! Artie grinned at the thought of being back on the train, with his legs set the right way. "Where do you live?" asked Artie.

"My house is right on the other side of the rocks. My fort is back here. Mama likes me to play here cause it's near the house. Pa says it's good for little girls to play outside."

"Oh," said Artie. "Well, is your pa here sweetie?"

"Naw, pa's in town. He's an important man, you know."

Artie smiled at the sophisticated phrase, probably copied from her mother. "Well," he said gently, "I need some help. Can we call your ma?"

The little girl smiled at him. "Are bad men after you? That's what pa's job is, to protect us from bad men. Is that why you need help?"

Artie's heart sunk as he listened; the girl's statement striking a chord in his heart. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced," Artie said, his voice carefully calm. "What's your name?"

The girl lifted up her head proudly. "I'm Millie Anne Slade," she said, pointing to herself like she was a great hero. "And what's your name?"

Artie cringed as the full reality of his situation hit him. Slade?! This was Slade's little girl! "Out of the frying pan, into the fire," he muttered. He thought he had been riding away from Slade's house, but the forest was thick and he had gotten turned around...this was not good.

"Your name is 'out of the frying pan into the fire'?" asked the girl.

"No, no," replied Artie, his voice still calm due to his training as an actor. "My name is Artemus. (At Slade's he had gone by the name of Charlie Mann, so his real name was perfectly safe to use.)"

"Artemus," giggled the girl. "It's a funny name. Do you want me to go get my ma?"

"No, that's okay," said Artemus, knowing that Mrs. Slade would recognize him right away because she served the ranch hands dinner every night. "You see..," said Artie, fumbling for words, "No one can see me. I'm..."

The girl's blank eyes sparkled with interest. "Are you invisible?" she asked.

"Well," Artie began, not knowing quite what to say.

"You must be an imaginary friend!. Katie Mills down the road has one. She is always making fun of me cause I don't have one. But Mama says they come when they want to and they can talk to you and you right back. Katie's is a woman that can turn into a swan. Can you turn into anything?"

Artie blinked in surprise, puzzled at the way the conversation had turned so quickly. "I can turn into a great many things," he answered bemusedly.

"Anything?," beamed the little girl. "Even a lion?"

"Especially a lion," Artie replied.

The little girl smiled. "Wee, now I have a friend no one else can see. Everyone will be just like me!

"Millie! Breakfast!" called Mrs. Slade. Her voice was uncomfortably close.

"Coming Mama!" Millie smiled at Artie. "Today I bake bread with Mama. Will you be here later?"

Artie smiled at the strangeness of all this. "I'm not going anywhere," he stated truthfully.

"Yay!" said little Millie. "I'll visit you when I come to play." Quickly, she stood and ran around the rocks. Artie smiled as he watched her go. "Cute little kid," he thought. "Now, what on earth am I going to do?!"

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Jim stood at the door of Hassie's ranch house, tapping his foot impatiently. Three knocks, and still no sign of Hassie or anyone else. Tired of waiting, Jim gently turned the handle on the door. Click. The door unlocked and swung open. Carefully, Jim stepped inside, only to feel the cold metal of a gun point press into the small of his back.

"Look here, thief or whatever you are, I've killed before and I'll kill again. So, if you want to live, you'd better take off your gun belt."

Jim sighed and took off his gun belt. The man behind him snatched it up and said, "Now you wait here, Mister. Hassie! Hassie! We got a snooper!"

Jim watched as Hassie meandered down the hall. Hassie was calm and cool; a tiger in his own jungle. Jim shivered as he looked at the man. Never had he seen such lifeless cold blue eyes. Jim realized that getting Hassie to talk to him would be difficult; he'd have to change his cover story to something more up the man's ally. But that wouldn't be too hard; Jim had several backup stories he could use.

"Your James West," purred Hassie when he and Jim were settled in the parlor. "Some folks in town say you were looking for me. Some say you want a stake in my gold, that's it?"

"That's the story I told," Jim replied nonchalantly.

"But that's not why your here?" queried Hassie.

"No. I'm here looking for a certain man...a man whose gone missing."

Hassie narrowed his eyes. "Whom are you looking for?"

Jim shrugged as if the man he was hunting was of little importance. "His name is Artemus Gordon. He works for the government. I was paid one hundred dollars gold if I could bring his body back to my client."

Hassie nodded. "One hundred dollars is a lot of money, Mr. West. Is this man worth it?"

Jim nodded. "He put my client in jail several years back. Now, he wants his revenge but is too old to go about it. Have you heard of this man?"

Hassie scowled. "Bounty hunters are the scum of the earth," he spat. "Why would I help you? I'm a law abiding citizen; it's up to me to keep your scum from harming the residents of my town."

Jim grinned gamely. "Well, this man is a _government agent_. I've been told that his partner was seen around here; a reasonably good looking young man. Perhaps if I could speak to him...I'd find what I was looking for. I'd pay you handsomely, of course."

Hassie nodded thoughtfully. "Come to think of it, I do know a man fitting your description. The Sheriff was holding him in his barn, but a night ago one of his ranch hands tried to steal his horse. He moved the prisoner to my house for safekeeping. He's upstairs; I'll let you have five minutes with him...for fifty dollars."

"Fifty! That's half my reward," grumbled Jim.

"Take it or leave it, Mr. West. I'm a busy man."

Jim scowled as he pulled out fifty dollars and gave it to Hassie. Suddenly, the same man who had taken Jim's gun belt ran into the room. "Mr. Hassie, Sheriff Slade wants to see you. Says it's urgent. He's waiting for you at the jail."

Hassie nodded. "Thanks, Jameson. Jameson, will you take Mr. West up to the north room? He is to be allowed five minutes with the government agent and then you are to escort him to his horse." Jameson nodded, and in a moment Hassie had grabbed his hat off the coat rack and had leaped onto a horse. Jim looked at Jameson and smiled. "Shall we?" he said.

True to his word, Hassie had locked poor young agent Gilbert Sullivan in the north room. As soon as Jameson had opened the door, Jim knocked him out with one punch. "Hello, Gilbert," grinned James as he took back his gun belt from Jameson. "Come on, we're getting out of here."

Quickly, Jim had cut Gilbert's bonds with one of his many knives and helped the poor man to stand up. "I'm afraid I've failed my first mission," Gilbert sighed as Jim and he raced through the hall. Jim was about to answer when they came to a screeching halt. Blow them on the landing were five ranch hands. All of them were unarmed, and as soon as they saw Gilbert with James they charged up the stairs.

"We are going to die," stated Gilbert.

"Five of them on stairs?" Jim looked at Gilbert dubiously. "This is child's play, kid." With that, Jim charged into their midst, and in three minutes flat he had the unconscious men stacked in the corner. "Now," said Jim, looking at the young man rather unimpressed, "let's get you back to the train."

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While Jim was enjoying a typical morning's exercise, Artie was trying to figure out just how he was going to get himself back to the train. Climbing the hill would be impossible, and if he pulled himself around the rocks he would be seen by Slade's men. Not that they would recognize him now after such a fall. But they would question how he got there with two broken legs, and Slade would put two and two together. Artie tried to pull himself up in a standing position, but the splints came loose and for the rest of the morning he found himself grinding his teeth in pain as he tied them back on.

Around noon, Artie was again visited by his little friend. "Hello, Artemus!" called a cheerful Millie. She tapped herself around the rocks and came near where he was lying. She had a small loaf of bread in her hands. "Mama says this is for you!"

Artie felt his heart jump. Surely Millie's mother didn't believe he was back here, or she wouldn't have let Millie return. Nor would she have baked a small loaf special for him.

"I told Mama that you are my imaginary friend. She said it's good to have an imaginary friend and that I should keep you fed. Here, eat! I already had my lunch."

Artie was too hungry to refuse the offer, but he waited until the girl had put the bread down on a rock before he reached for it. The girl couldn't see him, and thought he was invisible, air-like. The last thing he wanted was to become tangible. As Artie ate, he noticed the little girl looking sad. "What's wrong?" he probed gently.

"The other kids won't play with me," she replied.

"Why?" asked Artie, unsure of how to comfort the little girl.

"They tease me because I can't see anymore. I used to be able to see, but I got sick and it went away. Jeremy Clayton, who lives down the street, throws mud at me when I walk by. He thinks it's funny that I can't see it coming. I hate him! They're all so mean!" With that, Millie burst into sobs.

Artie cringed, not knowing what to say. He didn't want to hug her for the same reason he didn't take the bread from her, but he wanted to help her. "Shh, it's okay," he whispered. "Everything is going to be alright."

"No, it's not!," Millie wailed. "I'll never see again!"

"Millie, don't cry. Millie, there are other ways of seeing."

"Like what?"

"Well," began Artemus, "Listen. What do you hear?"

"Birds. And horses over the ridge."

"Good," replied Artie, though he couldn't hear the horses. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "What else can I see?" he thought. "What do you feel under your hands?"

"Rock. It's bumpy. But I can't see the colors. I used to love colors."

"But there are other ways to see colors too," Artie stated. "For instance...well...give me a color."

"Yellow."

"Alright, yellow. Yellow is... the taste of lemonade. It's the feel of the sun on your back, and...and the smell of hay. It's the sound of a bird chirping happily."

Millie cracked a small smile. "How about blue?"

"Blue is the taste of blueberries, the feel of water across your hands, the smell of evening, and the sound of the rain."

"Red!"

All afternoon, the color game went on, back and forth. Artie felt immensely proud of himself for coming up with that off the top of his head, yet he still felt that there was something else he could do for the girl. They had sat quietly for a few moments when Millie gave a great sigh. "Artemus," she asked, "Is there anything wrong with you?"

"Why?" asked Artie, his heart pounding again. Surely she didn't know he was injured.

"My mother says that many people have troubles, and they learn to live with them. I must learn to live with my eyes. But I've never met another person who has troubles. So, I just thought I'd ask if you had anything wrong with you."

Artie grinned and thought for a moment. "Well," he began carefully, "as a matter of fact, I do have something wrong with me. You see, I can't walk."

"You can't walk?!"

"Not right now, no."

"How do you get around? How do you go home?"

"Well, I have a friend who helps me when I'm in trouble."

"Is he imaginary too?"

Artie grinned sadly at the question. Jim should have been in town for two days now; he probably had the whole case wrapped up and was waiting for news from Artie. "He might as well be."

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Jim sighed in frustration as he leaned against the railing on the platform outside the train car. He watched the last of the daylight dissolve into darkness. There was not a star out tonight; thick clouds had covered the sky. "Artie, where are you?" he whispered. Surely Artemus would have contacted Jim by now; it was not like him to go missing without a word. Jim heard a creak behind him, and he sighed even louder as agent Gilbert came walking up. "Gilbert," he said after a moment of uncomfortable silence, "just why are you a government agent? You looked pretty scared back there." Gilbert sighed; a sigh that matched the husky dry sound of the wind fairly well.

"I thought it would all be fun and games; you know? I was number one in my class; every game I trained for I won."

"Except this one," Jim retorted. "This is your first mission, isn't it?"

"Technically," Gilbert muttered. "But I had a bad experience on the way here, and I'm still trying to make sense of it."

"What happened?" Jim asked, feeling irritated that a man who graduated at the top of his class couldn't even break out of a barn.

"My partner died."

"Oh." Jim looked at the man, stunned, and said gently, "What happened?"

"Well, we were just getting to know each other. He was a good guy; his name was Albert. He was funny looking; had a skinny face and straw blonde hair and wore these huge glasses. But he was a real brain. We were matched up at the academy, always pitting wits with one another. Well, when we found out that we were going to be partners, well, you can imagine all the fuss we gave each other. But Washington won out and we got our first assignment to come out here. We were out on the trail, just three days from this town, when we came across a wounded man. He said he got hurt in a mining accident, and he was wounded pretty bad. Albert patched him up (he was a full-fledged doctor) and took him back to his home. I rode in on our normal day. I came into town, and there was just a wrong feel to the air. As if something weren't quite right. Then, I rode around the corner. There were all these people in black standing around a coffin. And in it was Albert. He had been shot to death by the man he had tried to help."

"Wow," Jim breathed softly, saddened by the young agent's story.

"It was there that I made my mistake, Mr. West. I flung myself off my horse and started hollering to Albert to wake up. I don't know why; just guess I went crazy. I told everyone I was a government agent and I was going to get to the bottom of his killer. That's when the sheriff and his thugs grabbed me and took me out to his barn. I've made a mess of everything, Mr. West. What made me think I could protect the nation when I couldn't even protect my own partner?" With that, Gilbert smiled a small bitter smile and walked back into the train. Jim watched him leave and sighed, his own worries flooding back to him. "Just you hold on, Artie, wherever you are," thought Jim quietly. "I'm coming for you."

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It was morning, and Artie woke out of a light doze with a shiver. It had been exceptionally cold last night, and the gray bleak morning did nothing to raise Artie's spirits. Artie moved his legs ever so slightly, grimacing at the pain that shot up his already overworked nerves. He reflected grimly that if he didn't get help soon, his legs would probably end up twisted and he'd be crippled for life. "Well, Artemus my boy," he scowled, "you've had it long and easy, always making it out of everything without a scratch. Your luck was bound to change." He was just about to try standing again when he heard the familiar sound of a stick cracking.

"Hello, Artemus," said Millie.

"Hi," Artie replied. "What are you doing out so early?"

"It's the first day of summer school. I'm scared. I don't want to go."

"Oh," Artie said, unsure of what to say next. Finally, he decided to ask a question. "Why are you afraid to go to school?"

Millie looked at the direction of his voice and wiped a stray tear from her face. She kept her voice steady though as she answered, "because I'm afraid all the other kids will make fun of me."

Artie frowned, trying to think of a way to ease her fears. Artie had never hated school; he had thrived on it. He had never been made fun of to his face; he was an enigma, a thing to be ignored. That was why he demanded other's attentions with his acting and his many talents. He refused to be ignored. But all this girl wanted was to be ignored. How could he help her?

They sat in silence for a moment, as Artie planned his next speech. Then, just as it looked like Millie was about to burst into tears again, Artie said, "Do you know what I do when I'm in a situation where I'm scared?"

Millie shook her head.

"I pretend I am something much bigger than myself. I pretend I am a bear, or a panther; something with teeth and claws. I say to myself, 'No one can mess with me. I am king of my world!' And suddenly I feel better. I even feel like helping other people; cause when you're the strongest one around, it's up to you to take care of the others around you."

"Really?" said Millie, perking up. "What do you think I am?"

Artie thought for a moment, and smiled slowly. "Have you ever seen a picture of a tiger?"

"No. Teacher has one in her book of animals, but I can't see it."

"Well, a tigress is a giant she-cat. It looks like... walking fire! It's coat is orange, like a fire, and it is striped with knife-black stripes."

"Black like I see?" asked Millie curiously.

"Yes! And the tigress is the 'Queen of the Jungle'! When the others laugh at you, don't say: 'I'm Millie, and I'm blind,' say: 'I'm Millie the Tigress, Queen of the Jungle, and Master of the four senses: hearing, touching, tasting, and smelling." Millie's petulant frown began to creep into a smile. "You'd be a good cat Millie," Artie continued, "for all cats can see in the dark, and so can you. Even though you can't see with your eyes, you can still see with your ears and your hands and your nose." Millie put her hands over her nose with a smile, just as if she were noticing it for the first time. "You have the upper coin! No one can ever see like you. So, it's up to you to protect those in your realm," Artie finished.

"Oh, thank you Artemus!" cried Millie happily. Her sorrowful frown had turned into a smile, and the tears into a laugh.

"Now, get to school!" Artie commanded. "After all, it would not do for the Queen of the Jungle to be late for her own court!"

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The very first thing Jim did in the morning was to go over to Sheriff Slade's office, but the sheriff was not there. Jim checked the entire town, but it was as if the Sheriff had disappeared. Finally, Bill the friendly barkeeper told Jim that Slade was still out of town due to urgent business, but that he'd be back around late afternoon. Since he always ate with his family, his home would be the best place to find him. Jim thanked the barkeep and headed to the train. After filling Gilbert in on the situation, he began to prepare for his run-in with Slade.

"It still doesn't seem very likely that Slade is behind all this, especially with you being held at Hassie's house, but all the clues point to him. I'm just going over there to shake him up, get some answers," Jim stated to Gilbert as he put various guns and knives in his coat. "You stay here!" Jim commanded as he saw Gilbert rise to go with him. "You're not ready to go back into the field yet."

Gilbert scowled. "When Albert died, I vowed to get his killer," he stated firmly. "I still am a government agent, and for now you need backup."

Jim frowned in thought as the young agent stood tall.

"I won't get in your way," Gilbert added.

After a long pause, Jim sighed and nodded. "Alright, you can come," he growled. "Just don't make me regret this."

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Sheriff Slade stepped into his house after kicking his boots to dust them off. "Jane?" he called, his voice echoing in the sparsely furnished room. "Jane, I'm home!" "In here!" called his wife from the kitchen. Slade smiled and walked into the warm kitchen, his stress dissolving as he saw the silhouette of his wife bending over a stove.

"Jeremiah," Jane said with a laugh, as he swept her into his arms and gave her a quick kiss. "My, you are rowdy today!"

Slade smiled and looked around the room. "Is Millie back from school yet?" he asked.

"Not yet," replied Jane. "It's a late lunch we are having, so I packed her a lunch tin. She'll be home soon, though; school's almost let out.

"Oh," replied Slade. "Strange, isn't it," he said after a pause, "how our daughter found some courage. I was starting to loose hope that our little flower would ever bloom again."

"It's been a long year," Jane replied. "Strange, but wonderful! I can't help thinking though that there is more to this imaginary friend thing than Millie lets on. The things she says he says are not things that could come from her own mind. I wish I knew who was helping our little girl; I'd love to thank him properly."

Slade smiled grimly and said, "At least we know it's not one of Hassie's men. None of them could be that compassionate."

Jane stiffened at the mention of Hassie, and she whispered, "Jeremiah, they didn't kill old Charlie did they? You know as well as I do that he wouldn't try and steal a horse. He was probably just frightened by the sight of that poor government agent pinned up against the wall."

"I know, I know. Don't worry, Jane, we didn't find his body. Nor did we find the government agent. I hope they got away safe somewhere. I swear, sometimes I think that I ought to shoot Hassie in the back, just to get the trouble to leave this town."

"Oh Jeremiah, you shouldn't think such things. After all, you are a Sheriff!"

"I know, but I'm tired of that scum running this town. He's got all the people on his side, he's got a fortress filled with gunslingers; he even gets all he can out of me, and like an idiot I keep following along."

"Jeremiah, we can leave. Right now! No one will suspect us to flee in the middle of the day!"

"We can't leave, Jane. We can't travel fast enough with Millie, and Hassie'd catch up to us. Any you remember what he said he'd do."

"You don't have to tell me, Jeremiah, I remember well."

Slade dropped his eyes and kicked the ground angrily. "It was I who made the mistake. A sheriff should never have a family."

Jane looked at her husband, love and pride filling her eyes. "I will bless every day that you made that decision," she replied. Slade smiled with his eyes. They were just about to kiss when a raspy voice said behind them, "Well, what do we have here?"

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"Don't you know how to knock?" Slade growled as Hassie stepped into the kitchen, raised gun in hand. Hassie smiled a sickening smile and said, "It must have been something my mother left out of my education. Did you find that sniveling boy?"

Slade scowled. "That government agent is long gone," he replied. "Thanks to you and your no good thugs. They were no match for that _other_ government agent. How many do you think we got in this town, anyway?"

Hassie sneered. "How was I supposed to know that West was a government agent? But it doesn't matter now. I found out from our friendly barkeep that he is headed right this way to come talk with you. And you'll be ready for him, won't you Slade? Cause if you're not...well, it won't be very pretty."

Slade sighed. "I'll be ready, Hassie."

Hassie grinned, gesturing towards the door with his loaded gun. "And I'll be in the kitchen with your wife, watching the whole time."

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Artie bit down hard on his necktie as he slowly stood up. The braces he had made to hold his legs in place were a bit wobbly, but were firmer than the first pair he had fashioned. "Ha!" he spat as he made his way to the big boulder. "I'm going to get out of here at last! It'll just take me a week, that's all." Artie sat down on a boulder, feeling light headed, and waited for the pain to pass. Suddenly, he heard the sound of running steps.

"Hey," Artie smiled as Millie came running around the boulder. "How was your first day at school?"

"Artemus, you've moved!" said a puzzled Millie.

"Oh, yeah...I...er...am learning how to walk again."

"Great! I'm learning how to see again, the way you taught me. And guess what!?

I'm going to learn to read too! Teacher says there is a special reading language for people who can't see. It's called Braille! And I get to learn it!"

"Great!" said Artie, proud of his little friend. "But don't just tell me; get in there and tell your ma about it!"

"Oh, I will. But I just wanted to see you first... to say thank you. You've helped me lots."

"You're welcome, little tigress. Well, I best be off now too."

"You're going?!"

"You don't need me anymore, Millie," smiled Artie. "And besides, I have other lives to save."

Millie smiled sadly. "Guess this is goodbye then. I knew you had to go, though. Katie down the way says imaginary friends don't stay long."

"Nope," said Artie with a mischievous grin, "they don't."

"Well," said Millie, "Goodbye then."

"Goodbye, Millie. And don't forget, you're a tigress!"

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Slade flinched as he saw his daughter run into the house. Hassie had no kindness in his heart, and with everyone on Hassie's side, there was no place to send his beloved daughter.

"Hey, sweetie," he grinned as he stepped into the house.

"Hello, daddy! Guess what? I'm gonna learn to read!"

"That's wonderful, dear!" said Jane, nervously glancing at Hassie. Hassie shrugged as if to say he couldn't care less. Now, normally, when there was a new person in the house, Millie would have noticed and would have fell silent. But today she was just too excited to contain herself, and the words tumbled out of her like water.

"My teacher says I'm smart, and will learn to read very fast. And I was not afraid at all of the kids today, because I became a tigress, just like Artemus said I should..."

Hassie jumped up at Artie's name, causing Millie to stop her excited speech and stare in terror. "What did you say?" he roared. "Who is Artemus?!"

"You leave her be," growled Millie's mother. "Artemus is just her imaginary friend; nothing more."

"Oh, I'd bet you my gun there's more. Artemus is a government agent; James West said it himself before! That means there's _another_ one in this town. And if he's been close enough to be talking to your daughter, well then, he's got to be on this farm somewhere. Hey, wait a second!" Hassie's eyes narrowed to deadly slits. "You've been harboring him all along, haven't you?"

"No!" said Slade, panicked as Hassie eyed Millie, "I swear to you, we didn't even know he was here!"

"Oh, you knew, " growled Hassie. "You wanted me out. Well, I'll leave this town, never you fear. But first, I've got some unfinished business." At this, Hassie bounded forward to grab Millie. Millie let out a terrified scream as Slade jumped in front of his daughter. Just then, two of Hassie's unarmed thugs jumped in through the front door, and the real fight began. Millie went to the door screaming, "Artemus, HELP!" while her mother fought with a cast iron pan and her father slung his fists with all his weight behind them. Hassie got off a few bullets, but they missed his target. Then his gun jammed, and so he slammed the gun into its holster and grabbed up a chair.

Meanwhile, Artie had heard the commotion. When he heard Millie scream in terror, he leapt up to his feet and clamped his jaws shut. "I'm coming!" he thought as he jumped up, pain shooting up his legs. As swiftly as he could, Artie hobbled towards the fight, grabbing a branch to use for a club. It was only a few steps to the door, and Artie smiled when he realized how extraordinarily lucky he had been not to be seen during the duration of his stay. Inside, all was bedlam. Jane and Jeremiah fought back to back with Hassie and one other man. Millie was being held easily by another of Hassie's men, and her face was pale in fear. The man's back was near the door, and Artie wasted no time in clubbing the man on the head with the branch. The man slumped to the ground, and Artie grabbed Millie and yanked her out of the fray.

"Look, Millie," he whispered urgently. "Run to your fort and hide there!"

She shook her head. "But I want to help you!"

"No," Artie yelled. "You have to get yourself safe; that is how you can help. Here, here is my club. If anyone tries to hurt you outside, you do what you have to to protect yourself. Understand?"

The little girl nodded and, gripping the branch like her cane, ran off to the fort. Once she was gone, Artie lurched inside the house and grabbed a vase. Using the corner of the wall to prop himself up, he flung the vase across the room. It hit the man Mrs. Slade was fighting squarely in the head, and she flashed him a grateful smile. It looked as if they were going to win.

Suddenly, five more of Hassie's men came pouring through the door, and these ones had guns. Jeremiah and his wife stopped fighting; with five guns trained on them, what else could they do? Hassie, bruised and beaten, shoved them into the corner where Artie was standing. One of his hired guns threw Hassie a gun.

"So, you are the famous Mr. Gordon," growled Hassie. "It seems as though everyone has a price on your head.

Artie blinked. "I think you are confusing me with my partner," he stated, nonplused.

"Oh, yes, the impulsive Mr. West," Hassie growled. "He won't have much of a chance when he comes riding in here later this afternoon." Hassie eyed Artie, particularly his leg braces, and grinned a killer's grin. "But you look tired, Mr. Gordon. Why don't you sit down while I tell you exactly why I am doing all this." With that, Hassie kicked Artie in the legs. Artie howled painfully and collapsed in a heap on the floor as his braces (and bones) snapped again. Jane gasped and buried her head in Jeremiah's shoulder, and Jeremiah growled at Hassie.

"Damnit Hassie, what did you do that for?!" yelled Jeremiah. "He obviously wasn't going to run anywhere!"

Artie blinked through the painful haze, trying to get his bearings. Hassie grinned. "As much as all of you would like to think, this isn't about the country of "Junction" at all! About ten years ago, a huge robbery was staged in California. One banker and seven bandits got away with one hundred thousand dollars in gold. That banker was me. It was nice to be the mastermind of something that went so well, but the government was fast on our trail. So, we decided to melt the gold down and bury it in several places. All seven of us took our share and prepared to hide it in different places, but the government came upon us too fast. We buried the gold here, by Moon River, and fled. When our escape had been secured, we hid out for many years, hoping that our pursuers would falter. A skirmish with Mexico over the town of Junction helped immensely. We all changed our names, posed as ranchers, and came to this town right when it was taken over again, this time by the Union. A terrible epidemic of scarlet fever was raging, and we became just the heroes that these people needed. No one was well enough to stand up to the Banditos, and we gunned them down like it was child's play. It all fell into place when they gave us the land by Moon River. We started to dig up the gold, but we couldn't find it. All that time had altered the land. So, we staged a gold rush. The few idiots we had mine for us just found the top layer, and we were just about to complete our extraction when the government stepped in. They wanted a share of our money. OUR money! and not a small share, either. So, we planned something outrageous like a separation from the Union to distract the government while we made our getaway. It almost worked, until you and your agents showed up!"

Artie shook his head in confusion. "This doesn't make sense; why not just take your gold and leave. None of our agents knew that the gold was yours; we all suspected Slade."

Hassie frowned. "You were supposed to," he growled. "But one of my idiot miners got himself injured and led a government agent right into our ranch! Morgan was his name, Albert Morgan. He saw too much and had to be killed. But it was risky; we tried to make it look like wild beasts had killed him. It didn't work; in came that other idiot Gilbert Sullivan. To utilize the situation to our advantage, I had Slade here hide him in his barn as part of the whole 'smallest country' act. He knew what would happen to his family if he failed."

Slade sneered and was about to say something when the sound of horse hooves captured everyone's attention. "Well, Mr. Gordon, that must be James West. I'm assuming that he's another agent, and not a bounty hunter."

Artie glanced intently at the door, willing Jim not to come in for fear that he would be instantly shot. The air was tense as they heard the snorts of horses; Hassie's men had crouched down behind various pieces of furniture and has cocked their guns to fire. But everyone, even Artie, was surprised at the chaos that ensued next.

A gas bomb flew through the back window. Everyone was unprepared for the impact and four of Hassie's men were knocked out cold by spurting colored gas. The four joined the two on the floor, leaving Hassie and one other man. Quickly, Hassie kicked the man out through the front door and promptly a bullet seared through his minion. Hassie scowled, knowing that the two agents had both the front door and the kitchen door covered. Breathing through his bandana, he grabbed Artie and, using his body as a shield, dragged him through the front door.

Artie, already dizzy from the gas, was caught in between hollering in pain and collapsing into blackness. The fresh air revived his senses somewhat, and he came to realizing that he was lying in the hot dirt with a gun pointed to his back. "Jim!" Hassie yelled. A figure by the barn peeked out; so Jim was covering the front door. "I have your agent friend here!" Hassie called. "If you come out and throw your gun down, I'll let him and you live. But if you don't come out..." Hassie cocked his gun. "Then there will be no need to pay any medical bills on this dead-dog coyote friend of yours." There was no answer from behind the barn. "Alright!" Hassie called, and he began to squeeze the trigger.

"No!" shouted Jim, as he jumped from behind the barn. Hassie took the gun out of Artie's back and stood tall, letting Artie slump to the ground like a sack of potatoes. "Your gun, Mr. West," he commanded.

Jim scowled and threw his gun down. Hassie walked up to Jim and kicked the gun away. He stayed at arms length though, out of grabbing distance. Jim looked at Artie, his throat tightening in sympathy; Artie did not look good. Hassie backed up a little more, till both agents were in the sights of his gun. Jim wanted to run over to Artie, but he knew that the slightest move could set off Hassie's gun and so he stayed remarkably still.

"Well, Mr. West, it appears you have lost your bounty."

Jim smiled. "You can't win them all."

Hassie grinned evilly. "But he was worth so much money to you," Hassie chided.

Jim shook his head. "According to your agreement, we both keep our lives. That is worth so much more to me.!"

"And me," Artie croaked weakly.

Hassie's mouth twitched. "What agreement?" he asked coldly.

"Boy, Jim, I'd sure hate to be in a gang with him," rambled Artie. "With a memory that bad, it's amazing he even remembered that he buried gold!"

"Yes," Jim agreed. "Hassie, you really need to see a doctor for those memory problems. Maybe he could sell you something."

Hassie grinned broader. "I only accept gifts," he replied, aiming towards Artie's head.

"Good, then I've got a gift for you!" said a familiar voice. Hassie turned and saw none other than Gilbert Sullivan standing there, his gun drawn and steady. "Hassie Perkins, I arrest you for the murder of Agent Albert Morgan," stated Gilbert.

Hassie frowned and said, "Well, I guess you got me." Then, he turned and aimed his gun at Gilbert. Hassie moved so fast that from his ground viewpoint Artie couldn't even see which way Hassie was standing. But Gilbert could tell what Hassie had in mind and he quickly pulled his trigger. Hassie yelped as the bullet pumped into him, throwing him backward on top of Artie. Everything went hazy then, and Artie let himself relax. Hassie and his men had been caught; there was nothing left to worry about. Dimly, Artie felt Jim probe his body.

"Where does it hurt?" asked Jim.

"Legs," muttered Artie. Then, so suddenly that it startled Jim, Artie sat up in terror. "Millie!" he cried. "Jim, there should be a little girl behind those boulders there! Can you see if she's alright?!"

Jim grinned. "You mean this little girl?" he asked. Millie was standing over by Gilbert, still clutching onto her branch. Her face was pale but her unseeing eyes sparkled.

"This little lady warned us about Hassie and his men. She was standing on the road and stopped us when we came near. If it wasn't for her, we'd have walked into Hassie's trap."

Millie grinned. "I heard the horses, and didn't recognize any of the whinnies," she replied. "So, I ran to the road to get help."

Artie groaned. "You were supposed to stay hidden!" he chided gently.

Millie smiled. "Well, Artemus, you know I can take care of myself. I am, after all, a tigress."

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Later that day Artie came to on a nice soft couch in Sheriff Slade's home. The doctor had been called and had set his legs earlier with plaster, and it had taken all of Artie's strength not to scream out in pain. The agents had opted to let Artie rest, and had taken up a poker game with Sheriff Slade in the corner. As soon as Jim saw Artie watching them though, he left the game and drew up a chair.

"How are you feeling?" Jim asked.

"Like I got caught in the middle of a buffalo stampede," Artie replied. "Where's the doctor?"

"He went back to town."

Artie nodded. "Good. So, when do we have to get back on the train?"

Jim looked back at Gilbert and Slade in their turns. They had stopped playing and were looking Jim's way. "Well Artie, you won't get back on the train. At least not for three months."

"Three months! Are you kidding?!"

"You're not exactly fit for active duty, Artie."

"I know, but why can't I just work in my lab on the train?"

"The doctor says your legs are broken in various places. The sway from the train could knock them out of joint again, even with the casts on. So, you're going to have to stay here."

Artie looked over at Slade, embarrassed because he was going to be so much trouble. "Maybe the doctor will put me up at his house..." Artie began.

"Nonsense!" declared Mrs. Slade as she walked in with a plate full of cookies freshly baked. "You will stay with us! You have paid us already."

"What? How?" queried Artie.

Mrs. Slade smiled and pointed out the open window. There, right in the front yard, was an admiring crowd of children watching as Millie reenacted the gunfight. Artie watched as she played all three roles, and when she was done she fell over just like Hassie had done.

"Weren't you scared?" asked a little girl.

"Why should I be; I'm Queen of the Jungle," giggled Millie.

"Long live the Queen!" shouted an older boy, and with a swoop he picked Millie off the ground and held her up on his shoulders. The kids then ran to the boulders to play, and Millie's laugh rang above everyone else's. Mrs. Slade looked at Artie, her eyes full of gratitude.

"Believe me," she said so faintly that only Artie heard. "That was payment enough."

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Jim and Gilbert rode back to the train, their horses raising puffs of dust on the summer-dry road. "Well Gilbert, how does it feel now that you know what the service is like?"

Gilbert shrugged. "I don't know. I thought I'd feel better after I had brought Albert's killer to justice, but I just sort of feel... numb."

Jim nodded. "I know what you mean. I had to watch my partner die once."

Gilbert looked at Jim in confusion. "Isn't Mr. Gordon your partner?"

Jim nodded. "Were were in the house of a Confederate officer, and... you'd never believe me if I told you. Suffice it to say, I was overjoyed when I found out my friend was still alive."

Gilbert nodded. "I wish Albert had that chance too."

Jim was silent for a moment. "So, are you going to stay with the Service?"

Gilbert nodded, without hesitation. "We are fighting to keep the west safe," replied Gilbert. "If I can protect just one other life... it will have been worth it."

Jim nodded in understanding. They rode in silence towards the setting sun a while, and then Jim smiled a sly smile.

"Oh, and Gilbert?" Jim began.

"Yes Mr. West?"

"I believe you owe me fifty dollars."


End file.
